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Lays of Ancient Rome-Part13_Thomas Babbington Macaulay(1800-1859)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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adherent of the Tribunes, has made a new song which will cut the



Claudian nobles to the heart. The crowd gathers round him, and

calls on him to recite it. He takes his stand on the spot where,



according to tradition, Virginia, more than seventy years ago,

was seized by the pandar of Appius, and he begins his story.



Virginia

Fragments of a Lay Sung in the Forum on the Day Whereon Lucius



Sextius Sextinus Lateranus and Caius Licinius Calvus Stolo Were

Elected Tribunes of the Commons the Fifth Time, in the Year of



the City CCCLXXXII

Ye good men of the Commons, with loving hearts and true,



Who stand by the bold Tribunes that still have stood by you,

Come, make a circle round me, and mark my tale with care,



A tale of what Rome once hath borne, of what Rome yet may bear.

This is no Grecian fable, of fountains running wine,



Of maids with snaky tresses, or sailors turned to swine.

Here, in this very Forum, under the noonday sun,



In sight of all the people, the bloody deed was done.

Old men still creep among us who saw that fearful day,



Just seventy years and seven ago, when the wicked Ten bare sway.

Of all the wicked Ten still the names are held accursed,



And of all the wicked Ten Appius Claudius was the worst.

He stalked along the Forum like King Tarquin in his pride:



Twelve axes waited on him, six marching on a side;

The townsmen shrank to right and left, and eyed askance with fear



His lowering brow, his curling mouth which always seemed to

sneer;



That brow of hate, that mouth of scorn, marks all the kindred

still;



For never was there Claudius yet but wished the Commons ill;

Nor lacks he fit attendance; for close behind his heels,



With outstretched chin and crouching pace, the client Marcus

steals,



His loins girt up to run with speed, be the errand what it may,

And the smile flickering on his cheek, for aught his lord may



say.

Such varlets pimp and jest for hire among the lying Greeks:



Such varlets still are paid to hoot when brave Licinius speaks.

Where'er ye shed the honey, the buzzing flies will crowd;



Where'er ye fling the carrion, the raven's croak is loud;

Where'er down Tiber garbage floats, the greedy pike ye see;



And wheresoe'er such lord is found, such client still will be.

Just then, as through one cloudless chink in a black stormy



sky

Shines out the dewy morning-star, a fair young girl came by.



With her small tablets in her hand, and her satchel on her arm,

Home she went bounding from the school, nor dreamed of shame or



harm;

And past those dreaded axes she innocently ran,



With bright frank brow that had not learned to blush at gaze of

man;



And up the Sacred Street she turned, and, as she danced along,

She warbled gayly to herself lines of the good old song,



How for a sport the princes came spurring from the camp,

And found Lucrece, combing the fleece, under the midnight lamp.



The maiden sang as sings the lark, when up he darts his flight,

From his nest in the green April corn, to meet the morning light;



And Appius heard her sweet young voice, and saw her sweet young

face,



And loved her with the accursed love of his accursed race,

And all along the Forum, and up the Sacred Street,



His vulture eye pursued the trip of those small glancing feet.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .






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